Fancy Parties and Cardboard Books
by Annie Dash
Summary: Just a little journey into the mind of Owl Eyes. I may write another fic about him later.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the Great Gatsby. This is just a one-shot. I actually had to write it for an English assignment and I really liked it so I figured why not post it? I wrote it about Owl Eyes because he's the only character except Gatsby and Nick who I liked. I think he's very interesting. Enjoy and please review! Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated! :)**

Fancy Parties and Cardboard Books

I only came to one of Jay Gatsby's parties, and I spent the entire evening in the library, recovering from drinking far too much. In hindsight, I'm surprised I bothered going because I've never been much of a people person, and I never particularly enjoyed associating with the rich, snobby folks who often attended parties such as Gatsby's. However, I went to one out of mere politeness when a kind lady named Roosevelt found me on the streets, drunk and confused, and helped me find my way home safely. Upon reaching my doorstep, she proceeded to invite me to be her escort to the party that evening, and seeing as I owed her a favor, I politely accepted the invitation.

Despite attending the party, I wanted to find someplace quiet for two purposes: hiding from all the people and sobering up. To do so, I explored Gatsby's mansion in search of a room no one else would consider spending time in during a party. The silent library, filled with leather-bound books organized neatly on innumerable shelves, served as an optimal choice for my intended goals.

I sat down in a chair and paged through several books, shocked by the fact that a man like Gatsby would own books that weren't simply for show and the fact that he owned books I had read and enjoyed. If he read these books in his free time and acquired a taste for them, we had something in common.

After sitting in the library for only twenty minutes, I heard footsteps and quickly put the book I was holding on a shelf, as I didn't want a servant or Gatsby himself to catch me sneaking around the library, inspecting books which didn't belong to me. However, to my surprise, it was just a young man and a girl whom I presumed was his girlfriend, most likely searching for a place where they could be alone to talk.

I looked the woman up and down. She was rather normal, with plain brown hair and dull grey eyes, no one who most people would bother giving a second glance. Somehow, her plainness made her somewhat interesting to me. "What do you think?" I asked.

The pair glanced at each other, confused. It was the girl who finally replied. "About what?"

I gestured toward the books. "About that. As a matter of fact you needn't bother to ascertain. I ascertained. They're real."

"The books?"

I nodded, wondering why they seemed so confused still. As the books were essentially the only things that occupied the room, I saw no point in them questioning what I was referring to. It seemed rather obvious.

Nodding, I said, "Absolutely real-have pages and everything. I thought they'd be a nice durable cardboard. Matter of fact they're absolutely real. Pages and-Here! Lemme show you."

I selected Volume One of the "Stoddard Lectures" from one of the bookcases, for it was a book I had previously read and quite enjoyed. Paging through it, I exclaimed, "See! It's a bona fide piece of printed matter. It fooled me. This fella's a regular Belasco. It's a triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop too-didn't cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?"

I placed the book back where I found it so no one noticed it was gone, as I muttered random things under my breath. For all I knew, there was a servant responsible solely for checking the library every single day to make sure no books were out of place. With all of Gatsby's money, he could afford an extra person to do so with ease.

I came back to the couple. They just stared at me for a full minute, and I figured I might as well speak if they weren't going to initiate conversation.

"Who brought you? Or did you just come? I was brought. Most people were brought."

Still no answer. These two people were almost as strange as me. I felt as though I could stand there talking for hours and only expect one or two word statements in response.

"I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt. Mrs. Claud Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library."

Clearly, I hadn't been drunk for a week, but I've been known to stretch the truth on many occasions. It makes everything far more interesting.

"Has it?"

"A little bit, I think. I can't tell yet. I've only been here an hour. Did I tell you about the books? They're real. They're-"

"You told us."

Finally, they said they had to be on their way and I shook hands with both of them. Neither of my two goals were accomplished. I hadn't been sobered up in the slightest and in my efforts to get away from people, I ran into them anyway.

Libraries aren't good places to sit during parties, I decided.


End file.
